Iruka slumped to the ground the instant he heard the command, his expression collapsing as if he'd been kicked in the face twice over.
"Alright, alright—don't tear me down here. Just carry out the procedure. I want a full investigation into Moyu."
Moyu smiled faintly, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. The Yamanaka operatives seated him onto a wooden chair, preparing to dive into his mind. He didn't resist; in fact, he appeared unusually cooperative. Yet after nearly fifteen minutes of silent focus, sweat poured from the Yamanaka's forehead.
"No… it's useless. I've exerted my full strength, but no matter my level or stamina, I can't trace the origin within his consciousness. It's impenetrable."
Moyu's gaze remained calm. A man of his strength could not be deciphered so easily, and he knew it. Still, the futility of their efforts left him slightly disappointed.
"It seems your skill isn't enough. If that's the case, how will you clear my name? Don't tell me this farce is all you've got."
His tone struck a nerve. The room fell silent, and then one of the Yamanaka snapped, voice cold and defensive.
"Watch your tongue. You're the turtle caught in our urn now—how dare you speak that way?"
But Moyu's composure didn't waver.
"Save the posturing," he said flatly. "If this so-called 'investigation' can't uncover anything, what use are you? A bunch of wastes hiding behind big words."
The insult landed clean. The Yamanaka shinobi froze, speechless. Iruka, standing nearby, couldn't hide the flicker of dark amusement that crossed his face. These men were always held in high regard within the village, rarely spoken to this way—especially by a restrained suspect.
Their pride cracked. The Yamanaka ninja clenched his fists, barely restraining the urge to strike. Moyu's arrogance was infuriating, and under the law of interrogation, they had full right to employ "methods" for uncooperative subjects.
The room was lined with instruments—torture tools hanging like silent witnesses. The air grew heavy as another man entered: a cold-faced veteran with scars running across his cheek. His presence drew instant attention.
It was Ibiki, the specialist known for extracting truth through pain.
"I'm already irritated watching you act so smug," he said darkly. "If that's the case, let's see how long you can keep that tone once you've had a taste of our methods."
He gestured sharply, and a red-hot shovel was lifted from the boiler, glowing with heat. The interrogators grinned maliciously as they moved in to restrain Moyu.
But before they could touch him, Moyu's expression shifted—subtle, indifferent. Then, in an instant, his leg swept out like a flash of steel. One kick sent a man flying; the shovel clattered through the air and slammed into another's chest.
In the blink of an eye, the five Yamanaka around him lay sprawled on the ground.
Moyu stood over them, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder, his voice calm and cold.
"For all your talk of mind-reading and interrogation, you break far too easily."
He glanced down at the unconscious operatives with quiet disdain. The contempt in his eyes was sharper than any blade.
{🥳 The Fanfic is now fully completed! 🎉
You can access 250+ advance chapters right now on Patreon—available for subscription or purchase! ✨
👉 patreon.com/Oreski
🥰 Your support keeps me motivated and eager to create even more amazing stories! 💖}